


Just Don't Lie to Me

by everythingwasgay



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Eventual Smut, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingwasgay/pseuds/everythingwasgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles reflecting on Isabela and Marian Hawke as I replay through Dragon Age 2. Some smut eventually, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Don't Lie to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This close, I can smell her, and feel her warmth. She smells like sweat and blood and sawdust and ale."
> 
> Hawke gets injured, and Isabela carries her to safety. Chapter title from "Nineteen" by Tegan and Sara. Fic title from "I'm Not Calling You a Liar" by Florence And The Machine.

“MAKER.” 

“Well, bugger Hawke! You should’ve let me scout ahead like I told you!” 

I glare at Isabela, and she raises her hands in exasperation. 

“How is it that a great and powerful mage such as yourself has no healing capabilities?”

My face turns a deep red, and I turn away from her. “Bethany was the healer,” I say. “I just blow shit up.” 

She scoffs, but then is quiet as the implication behind the word  _ was _ hits her. She kneels by my ankle, which has been caught in the steel teeth of a trap. I was in such a hurry to recover Martin’s cargo that I had forgotten Isabela’s tip: traps are everywhere, particularly around the docks. No one likes losing cargo to thieves. I should have let her scout ahead and disarm it, but I am, as Carver would say, an arrogant ass, and hadn’t even thought of it. 

Varric and Carver stand off to the side. Carver’s got a shit-eating grin across his face, but Varric looks at least mildly concerned. “Is big boy over here going to have to carry her to Anders’ clinic?” he asks, pointing with his thumb at Carver. 

“Ideally, we would first need to get her out of the trap,” Isabela says. “Healing comes later.” 

I haven’t known Isabela long. Two days, since I helped her with her “duel.” I’ve been trying to gather up the funds for the Deep Roads expedition for about a week, and she’s been instrumental in what I’ve gathered so far. I trust her, though I probably shouldn’t, if her reputation is anything to go by. 

Her fingers fiddle gently with the mechanism of the trap. She looks up at me. “This is going to hurt,” she says. “A lot.”

I smile. “Is that a threat or a promise?” 

She laughs, and pulls something out of the metal contraption. The trap tightens first, digs deeper into my flesh, and I gasp. Then it snaps open, off of my leg, and I am suddenly bleeding all over the dock. 

“Wow,” I say. I blink a few times, nausea setting in. The blood is very dark. “That’s. Wow.” 

“She doesn’t much like blood,” Carver says, snickering. “Especially her own.” 

“Then she’s chosen a hell of a line of work,” Isabela says. “Some mercenary.” 

She slips her arms under my knees and behind my back, easily lifting me off the ground as she stands. I’m impressed, or I would be if I didn’t feel so lightheaded. I am not all that heavy though, really, as my skill with magic has little to do with muscle or strength, so I suppose lifting me isn’t much of a feat. I just never expected Isabela to be as hard as she is against my body as she carries me into Darktown, as toned with muscle.

“Do you need help?” Carver asks as we’re ascending stairs. Misogynistic prig that he is, he probably can’t believe his eyes either. 

“Not likely,” she replies. “I could still take on two men with your sister slung across my shoulder.” 

I’ve closed my eyes at this point. The world won’t stop spinning, and the last thing I want to do is vomit on my newfound friend. This close, I can smell her, and feel her warmth. She smells like sweat and blood and sawdust and ale. I find myself inhaling more deeply than necessary, intoxicated with the juxtaposition of her scent and her feminine appearance. I’m daydreaming about taking her up on the offer she made me for company at the Hanged Man two days ago, when we first met, as we arrive on Anders’ doorstep. 

I like her, more than I should. Perhaps it’s her blatant sexuality. Perhaps it’s the gaping flesh wound. But I do know that she would probably not be interested in an utterly inexperienced Fereldan backwoods apostate, if she knew that is who I truly am. 

But then we’re inside, and Anders is scowling over me, and I have no more time to think about Isabela or sex or anything because my eyelids droop closed at a word from Anders, who is growing rather tired of me babbling, “Wow, that’s blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood. Have I lost too much blood?”

And I’m out like a light. 


End file.
